The Christmas Present
by Sita Z
Summary: Malcolm takes care of Trip. Friendship.


* * *

Disclaimer: The story and original characters are mine, the Enterprise and her crew are not. Not making any money etc.

Author's Note: This was written as a Christmas present for Gabi, (hopefully) including all of her favorites: TripMalcolm friendship, a little Trip torture, and lots of H/C. Big thanks to T'eyla and Romanse for their comments and suggestions, and special thanks to Romanse for her suggestions for the "traditional Southern Christmas dinner"!

Feedback will be hugged and kissed!

* * *

„Anythin' else you can think of?"

Trip looked up from the padd he had been typing on, and at Travis, Hoshi and Malcolm, who were sitting around a table in the messhall. Their expressions varied from excited to interested to slightly annoyed. The latter expression, of course, belonged to Malcolm. The Armory Officer hadn't been very enthusiastic when Trip had started to talk about the Christmas Party, and had remarked that he wasn't sure yet whether he would "find the time" to make an appearance. Trip knew that time had little to do with it; the Captain had scheduled an early shift change for the 24th, so that everyone would get a chance to go to the party. Malcolm was just being a Scrooge, which was no less than Trip expected. In the back of his mind, he was already hatching a plan how he would get Malcolm to go to the party, after all... if he had to, he'd blackmail the Englishman into attending. Trip was determined that everyone would enjoy themselves, even if they had to be dragged there.

"Kurisumasuke-ki would be great," Hoshi said. Meeting only blank stares, she added: "It's a Japanese Christmas cake."

Travis frowned. "I didn't know the Japanese even celebrated Christmas."

"It's more a holiday tradition than a Christian one," Hoshi said. "When I was younger, we always had a home-made Christmas cake. It was what I liked best about the entire holiday." She smiled.

Trip added the cake to the list, which was almost two pages and still growing. The plan was to include at least one holiday specialty from every nation represented on Enterprise, then give the list to Chef so he could start planning the buffet. Trip had put up a note on the virtual bulletin board, asking the crew to send him their favorite dishes, recipes included if necessary. So far, the idea had been a great success; he had been bombarded with messages, and by now the list contained such interesting food items as hallacas from Venezuela, kibbeh from Lebanon and Baumkuchen from Germany.

Trip looked at Malcolm who had buried his nose in his padd again, his pasta sitting, hardly touched, on the table in front of him.

"Malcolm?" he asked, and when the Lieutenant didn't react, he repeated, "Malcolm? Earth to Lieutenant Reed, please come in!"

Malcolm glanced up. "Pardon?"

"There any particular British dish you like?" Trip asked. "Ensign Wright suggested a Christmas pudding, but we can still add somethin' else to the list."

Malcolm bent back down over his padd. "Pudding's fine."

Inwardly, Trip shook his head. Malcolm wasn't usually this reserved, at least not anymore, and had long since abandoned his habit of hiding behind a padd instead of joining the conversation. It seemed a little strange to Trip that he would do so now, although he might be reading too much into Malcolm's behavior. Maybe the Lieutenant was just preoccupied with tomorrow's away mission.

"What about you, Trip?" Hoshi wanted to know. "Any Southern Christmas specialties?"

He smiled. "Well, yeah. When I was little, we always had this huge roasted ham for Christmas, with corn, mac and cheese, green beans and sweet potato casserole. I used to love the casserole... well, and the red velvet cake, of course."

He broke off and turned to his padd to write down the casserole, hoping no one had noticed the wistful tone that had crept into his voice. It was only three days until Christmas, and back on Earth, he would be busy running his last rushed errands before he went back to his parents' house for the holidays. Christmas was a big event with the Tucker family, and he knew that everyone would be there, milling about, stuffing themselves with ham and cookies, opening presents until the room slowly immersed in an ocean of wrapping paper, and generally having a grand old time.

He scrolled down the list on his padd and absentmindedly read the names of the exotic dishes, each of which was a favorite and a reminder of home to one of the Enterprise crew. No way he was going to admit it, but sometimes he missed his family so much that it hurt.

"Malcolm," Hoshi said, and Trip raised his head. The young Ensign was looking at Malcolm with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Yes?" Malcolm didn't look up, his eyes glued to the padd.

"Where's your Christmas spirit?" Hoshi asked, playfully nudging his arm. "You've hardly said a word since we got here."

Finally, Malcolm raised his head. "Christmas spirit?" he repeated blankly, as if the words were Klingon and made no sense to him whatsoever.

"You know... the season to be jolly and all that. Don't you like Christmas?"

"I'm not so sure the Captain would appreciate it if I neglected my research for the briefing for the sake of Christmas spirit," Malcolm remarked, evading Hoshi's question.

Trip opened his mouth to say that the briefing was due in more than four hours and that Malcolm had been studying the same page for the last fifteen minutes, but hesitated when he noticed the look in the Lieutenant's eyes. Malcolm was trying to hide it behind his usual smirk, but to Trip it was obvious that something about Hoshi's remark had bothered his friend.

"Well," Trip said instead, saving his latest addition to the list and shutting off the padd. "I think we've got enough to keep Chef busy for the next few days."

He picked up his sandwich – poor thing was probably beginning to feel neglected by now – and began to eat, watching Malcolm who was still absorbed in his padd.

_Maybe sending him three ghosts would help_, Trip thought, and chuckled inwardly at the idea.

Somehow, he decided, he would see to it that Malcolm enjoyed himself this Christmas.

* * *

"Well, this isn't exactly what I'd call winter wonderland," Archer said as he stepped out of the shuttle and onto a stretch of pale blue grass.

Malcolm watched as Trip and T'Pol followed the Captain, and inwardly grimaced at the remark. You'd think they'd stop this bloody Christmas nonsense on an away mission, but no. Well, at least Captain Archer had agreed to let him come along this time, even if it wasn't strictly necessary, given that the planet was uninhabited and harbored no lifeforms larger than a cat. Climbing out of the shuttle, Malcolm had to admit that it did feel good, being outside for a change. The two orange suns cast a strange light over the cliffs and the sea beyond, their reflection on the water broken by thousands of waves, which looked tiny from up here but which were probably at least one meter in height. A soft breeze was blowing, carrying a scent of salt water and sea grass. It smelled almost too familiar, and Malcolm looked away from the water and at the rest of the away team.

T'Pol was calmly sorting through her equipment, calibrating the device she would need for her geological scans. At the briefing, she had come as close to excited as a Vulcan could get about the unique rock formations her orbital scans had detected, and the abundance of fossils those formations were likely to contain. Malcolm had brought along a few small explosive charges, just in case one of her samples needed to be removed from a rock.

Trip was, of course, taking pictures with his camera, and the Captain followed him, walking far too close to the edge of the cliffs for Malcolm's tastes.

"That looks like dolphins down there!"

Malcolm followed Trip's finger and noticed several fish-shaped creatures playing in the water, black silhouettes against a greenish sea. They did look somewhat like dolphins, although they seemed to have trunk-like appendage where a dolphin's snout would be.

"Illogical, Commander," T'Pol's cool voice stated behind them. "We are more than a hundred light years away from Earth. Those creatures cannot possibly be dolphins."

Malcolm expected Trip to come back with a snappy remark, but to his surprise, the Commander only smiled at her.

"I was just sayin' that they look like dolphins," he explained. "I wasn't implyin' that they _are _dolphins."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow and glanced at the animals in the water. "Then you are correct," she said. "They do resemble dolphins, in some ways."

Trip threw her a surprised look, as did Malcolm – it didn't happen often that T'Pol agreed with Trip on anything. Maybe it was the Christmas spirit, after all, Malcolm thought and smirked at the idea of a Vulcan tuning into the idea of human Christmas cheer.

T'Pol ignored them, her attention back on her readings. Slowly, she began to walk along the edge of the cliff, stopping now and then to change the settings on her scanner. Malcolm had no idea what it was that she was seeing, but it had to be fascinating, judging from the absorbed look on her face.

"Well," Archer said, picking up one of the sample containers, "time we made ourselves useful, gentlemen." He handed Trip the container, then nodded at Malcolm to take one for himself. Malcolm complied, feeling a bit excited at the idea of going fossil-hunting, on an uninhabited alien planet nonetheless. He'd had a collection as a boy, and even though he had never found anything truly exciting, he had always loved the idea of actually touching something that had been alive a million years ago.

On the ground in front of the cliffs, pieces of rock lay scattered on the grass and Malcolm began examining them systematically, picking up the smaller ones to check if there was anything on the underside. After only a few minutes, he discovered a small round shape with strange, tendril-like appendages growing out of it, not unlike a Terran octopus, but a lot smaller in size. He wrapped the rock in protection foil and put it into his sample box, feeling a twinge of the old excitement. Turning around the next rock, he found himself wondering what had happened to the old shoebox in which he had kept his fossils. It had probably ended up in the bin at some point.

_Too bad_, he thought. _Add a few of these things and I could sell it to the Natural History Museum._

He grinned at the idea and found that the bad mood he had been in for several days now had lifted. The fresh air and sun made for a great change after being cooped up inside for such a long time, and since this planet had very little to offer as far as plantlife was concerned, his allergies hadn't even started to make themselves felt. And it helped, of course, that there were no hostile aliens around that the Captain would want to invite to dinner.

Malcolm raised his head to look around for more rocks – and saw Trip disappearing over the edge of the cliff.

"Trip!"

Dropping his sample box, he jumped up and was at the cliff in a few large strides. Archer, startled by Malcolm's outcry, had gotten up as well.

Heart pounding wildly, Malcolm peered over the edge, and directly into Trip's smiling face.

"Keep your shirt on, Lieutenant," Trip said, drawling the words in a way that would have irritated Malcolm, had he not been almost dizzy with relief that Trip was alive, and not lying with broken bones on the rock surface eight meters below.

"What the hell are you doing down there?" Malcolm asked when he was sure that he would be able to talk in a steady voice again.

Trip was kneeling on an outcropping about two and a half meters below the edge of the cliff, his camera poised to take a picture of something on the rock face in front of him.

"Look at that," he said. "It's amazin'."

Malcolm leant forward to look at the thing Trip was pointing at. It was maybe the largest fossil he had ever seen; a gigantic version of the small "octopus" he had discovered earlier, its stone tendrils as thick as a man's wrist and equipped with claw-like appendages. It looked like the kind of creature you would not want to meet if you happened to go diving in a prehistoric sea.

"We've got climbing equipment back in the shuttle, you know," the Captain's voice said next to him. As he frowned down at the Commander, he seemed torn between exasperation and amusement at Trip's enthusiasm.

Trip glanced up, sounding a little guilty as he answered. "Sorry sir. I just wanted to get a coupla pictures of this thing..."

"Well, you should have used a securing rope," Archer said. "Give me your camera, I'll pull you back up."

Obediently, Trip held out the camera for Archer to take when suddenly he swayed, his eyes widening. For a terrible second, Malcolm had no idea what was happening, then there was an ugly crunching sound, like a huge branch breaking in two. The rock under Trip's feet, solid granite only a second ago, began to crumble and break away, large pieces of rock bouncing down the rock face.

"Trip!"

Malcolm and the Captain dropped to their knees at the time, trying to grab one of Trip's flailing hands. Briefly, Malcolm believed he would get a hold of Trip's arm, but then the fabric slipped through his fingers and out of reach. Trip's camera had fallen out of his hands and shattered on the way down. Then, just as the last piece of rock broke away, Trip reached out and grabbed something on the rock face in front of him. The remains of the outcropping dropped away and Trip's boots scrabbled on the rock as he desperately tried to find a hold. The root that had saved him from falling was straining under his weight.

Malcolm stretched out flat on his stomach. "Help me!" he snapped at Archer, who obeyed immediately, taking a hold of Malcolm's legs.

"Take my hand, Trip!" Malcolm said, trying to give the impression that he had the situation under control. Trip's eyes were wide and terrified, but he managed to let go of the root and reach out for Malcolm's hand.

"I can't reach you!"

"Try!" Malcolm said between gritted teeth, his arm aching with the strain he was putting on it. Their fingertips touched and for a second, Malcolm believed that they would make it. And they almost did. Then, the root snapped in two.

Trip screamed as he fell, his cry echoing in Malcolm's ears. The scream lasted for maybe half a second, then broke off abruptly, ended by a dull, oddly quiet thump. The silence that followed was the worst Malcolm had ever heard. Trip lay where he had hit the rock surface eight meters below, one of his legs half hidden under the other one. He didn't move and suddenly, Malcolm knew for sure that he was dead.

"Trip!" Archer shouted. For a moment, Malcolm believed the Captain would try and climb down after Trip, and prepared himself to bodily stop Archer from doing so. He was shaking, but he was fairly sure that he would be able to overpower the Captain.

Archer didn't try to climb down the cliff, however. Instead, he took out his communicator and flipped it open.

"Archer to Enterprise! Respond, goddammit!"

Hoshi's voice came out of the speaker. "Sato here. Captain, what's-"

"Trip's had an accident. We need an emergency beam-out, now! Tell Phlox and his team to stand by in the transporter room."

"Aye, sir." She immediately closed the channel after responding, and in his mind's eye, Malcolm could see her fingers darting over her console as she made the necessary calls.

"What are they waiting for, dammit!" Archer stared down at Trip's body, which looked strangely tiny down there, like a small animal the surf had washed ashore. Malcolm wanted to say that they would surely beam him up any second, but somehow, no sound came out and so he simply stood there and said nothing. Trip looked so _small_.

"Commander Tucker's alive," a calm voice stated behind them.

Archer didn't turn his head. "How do you know?" he asked hoarsely.

"He moaned," T'Pol replied quietly. "And I believe he just moved his hand."

Malcolm stepped closer to the cliff, hoping against hope that T'Pol was not mistaken, that her acute Vulcan hearing had actually picked up a sound. Before he could take a closer look, though, there was a high-pitched whine and Trip's body vanished in the sparkle of the transporter beam. On the place where he had lain, there was a dark spot on the yellow rock surface.

_Blood_, Malcolm thought, and suddenly noticed that he was feeling quite sick. _Please, let him be alive._

* * *

Staring at the door to the IC unit, Malcolm wished the Captain would finally stop pacing. Of course, he couldn't tell his commanding officer to park his arse on a bloody chair, but by now, he was admittedly coming very close. They had been waiting for almost two hours, all they knew was that Trip was alive and that Phlox was working on him, and Malcolm's nerves were beginning to get frayed.

The Captain continued his endless march; five steps towards the counter where the bat's cage stood, turn, five step towards the door, turn. Half-way, he would pass Malcolm's chair, and for a sudden, crazy moment, Malcolm saw himself stretching out a leg and tripping up his Captain. A wild laugh bubbled in his throat at the idea and he had to bite down on his tongue to keep it inside. If he started laughing like a maniac, he would only end up on the wrong end of one of the doctor's hypospray. And he didn't need that now. He needed to know if Trip was going to be okay.

Five steps to the counter, turn, five steps to the door.

_If he doesn't stop soon, I'll-_

The door to the ICU opened and Archer immediately stopped in his tracks. Phlox stepped out, holding up a hand as if to stop Archer from speaking up.

"Commander Tucker's going to be all right, Captain." The doctor leaned heavily against a bio bed. "He's suffered a pelvic fracture, which I've managed to stabilize, as well as a fracture of the femoral neck, a number of minor internal injuries, a concussion and a ruptured spleen. That was a bad fall he took, Captain," Phlox added, unusually serious. "He's lucky to be alive. If he had hit his head on the way down..."

He left the sentence unfinished, but Malcolm knew what he had been about to say. They had come close, very close, to losing Trip.

He surprised himself by speaking up. "Can we see him?"

"He's still unconscious," Phlox said. "You can go and see him, but it's still going to take a while until he wakes up."

"How long?" Archer wanted to know. His relief at the news was audible in his voice.

"Ten, maybe twelve hours. His body needs the rest to recover from the shock it has suffered."

Archer nodded and went over to the ICU, Malcolm following closely behind.

The lights in the room were dimmed, the only sound being the faint humming of the bio monitors. Trip's bed was the one closest to the door, and the only one occupied.

"God, Trip," Archer said softly as they came to stand next to the bed.

Malcolm said nothing. Trip was very pale, almost white. There was a bandage on his forehead and an IV tube leading to his right hand, as well as another tube that conveyed blood from a transfusion bag. Underneath the blanket that covered Trip up to the chest, Malcolm could make out the outline of a bulky bandage on Trip's waist and hips.

"You gotta stop doing this, buddy," Archer said quietly, almost as if he had forgotten about Malcolm and Phlox. He reached out and rested his hand on Trip's. "Hear me?"

Malcolm watched the slow rising and falling of Trip's chest, listened to the barely audible sound of his breathing. For a moment down there on the cliffs, he had thought Trip to be dead, and the shock he had felt was still lingering, sitting deep in the pit of his stomach even though he knew that his friend was going to recover. _Should have dragged your stubborn arse back up the moment you climbed down there without a rope. _The thought was accompanied by a twinge of anger and no little self-incrimination. If he hadn't been so absorbed in those bloody rocks, he might have prevented this from happening. Trip might still be okay.

Archer sighed, gently patting Trip's arm before he pulled his hand back. "You'll let us know when he wakes up?"

"Of course," Phlox said, then after a small pause, added, "Don't worry too much, Captain. I assure you that Commander Tucker will be all right."

Archer nodded. "Thanks, doctor."

He turned to go, but Malcolm lingered for a moment next to the bed, watching his friend. Trip was still breathing quietly, peacefully.

"Get better," he said softly, then turned to follow Phlox and the Captain to the door.

* * *

On the 24th of December, Malcolm Reed was sitting alone at a table in the messhall, pushing his chicken curry around his plate and trying to ignore the assembly of crewmen at the back of the room.

"More to the left! My left, not yours!" Lieutenant Hess' voice called out among the chatter. The sound of scraping and rustling and muttered swearing followed, then there was Hess again: "That's it, guys! Perfect."

Malcolm risked a glance over his shoulder. In one corner of the messhall stood a blue spruce, prominently presented and almost two meters in height if the pot were included (Christmas trees were hard to come by in deep space, and so the tree would go back to its corner in Hydroponics when the celebrations were over, and stay there until next year's party). A gaggle of crewpeople stood around the tree, admiring it. Lieutenant Hess, who seemed to be in charge of the operation, opened a large box and began to pull out its contents – Christmas tree lights, bulbs, stars, angels and bags of red and green tinsel.

"Easy, people," she said when the crowd pushed forward to grab a piece of decoration. "One at a time, okay?"

Malcolm turned back to his plate, letting out an inaudible sigh. He couldn't explain why he had never liked Christmas. It seemed just one of those things you were supposed to enjoy and that everybody was looking forward to, except him. As a boy, he used to spend Christmas Eve and the following day at his aunt's house, since his parents usually attended some Navy reception or another event where he and his sister would have been in the way. Aunt Sherry, for her part, had always been fully occupied hosting a party for her Bridge club and wasn't too happy to be burdened with her sister's kids on top of everything else. As a consequence, Malcolm and Madeline usually spent Christmas Eve in front of the upstairs TV, eating cookies and watching re-runs of "Three Years on Vulcan". On Christmas morning, Aunt Sherry always had a hangover and wanted to sleep in, which left Malcolm and his sister to celebrate alone in the living room, surrounded by plates, glasses and, occasionally, a conked-out party guest. Since the most memorable Christmas moment of his childhood was draping tinsel across a snoring Mr. Bursnell's nose, Malcolm had never quite been able to fathom what it was about this holiday that put most people in a state of home-sick nostalgia.

Like Trip, for example. Hoshi and Travis might not have noticed, two days ago in the messhall, but Malcolm had seen the look in Trip's eyes when he had talked about the dinner his "folks back home" would have on Christmas. Trip loved his family, and Christmas probably reminded him just how far away he was from them. Maybe that was why he always spent so much time and energy planning a holiday party for the crew; to give everyone, including himself, a reminder of home.

Malcolm stabbed at a piece of pineapple among the curry. This year, Trip would spend Christmas in sickbay while the party he had been looking forward to for weeks took place without him. Damn unfair, if you thought about it, that Malcolm should be able to go, even though he didn't really want to, while Trip was confined to a bio bed and unable even to get up on his own.

The party team at the back of the room had started a noisy discussion if a star or Santa Clause would look better on the treetop, and suddenly, Malcolm felt annoyed with them. He knew he had no right to be – the crew more than deserved to have a little fun. Still, it didn't seem right that Trip would be left out in the cold this year.

"Malcolm!"

He looked up, and quickly rose to his feet. Captain Archer was coming towards his table, nodding for Malcolm to stay put.

"Trip came to half an hour ago. I thought you might want to know. I've been down to see him," he said. "He's still a little out of it, but Phlox says that he's doing as well as can be expected."

"Did the doctor say if he can receive more visitors, sir?" Malcolm asked.

Archer smiled at him. "You can go and see him now, if you like."

Malcolm nodded. "Thank you, sir."

He picked up his barely touched dinner plate and carried it over to the dispenser. As he left the messhall, he heard Lieutenant Hess' voice: "Sir, what do you think – the star or Santa Clause?", and Archer's reply: "I'd say the star. It blends in better with the surroundings, don't you think?"

And despite his gloomy mood, Malcolm felt a smile tug at his lips.

* * *

When he arrived in sickbay, Phlox was there, arranging several hyposprays on a tray.

"Ah, Lieutenant," he said when he noticed Malcolm. "I take it you're here to see the Commander."

Malcolm nodded. "How's he doing?"

"You can ask him yourself, but I can assure you that his condition is stable." Phlox smiled. "I was just about to take him off the IV. You can accompany me, if you like."

Malcolm nodded and followed Phlox across the room to the IC unit. Obviously, Trip wasn't doing well enough yet to be moved out into the main room, or maybe Phlox hadn't wanted to put any more strain on his healing injuries than was absolutely necessary.

The doctor opened the door and went inside, Malcolm following closely on his heels.

Trip was propped up on a large pillow, his arms resting on the blanket in front of him. The transfusion bag was gone, and the head bandage of the day before had been replaced by a large band-aid over his left eyebrow. He was still pale, but undeniably awake, and broke into a smile when he saw Malcolm.

"Hey, Mal," he said. "Good to see you."

Malcolm sat down on the chair next to Trip's bed. "And you. How are you feeling, Commander?"

Trip rolled his eyes. "Please, Mal. None of this Commander stuff, okay? It's Christmas."

Malcolm had to smile. "Very well. So how are you feeling, Trip?"

"Well," Trip sighed. "Okay, I guess. The doc's takin' good care of me."

Phlox, who had been busy removing the IV catheter from Trip's arm, looked up and grinned, literally from ear to ear. "Of course I am, Commander. It's Christmas, after all, isn't it?"

He chuckled, obviously delighted with his joke, while Malcolm thought by himself that Phlox still needed to work on his understanding of human humor.

Trip smiled goodnaturedly at him, then turned back to Malcolm. "So, how's the party comin'? They finished with the tree yet?"

Of course. The party. "Lieutenant Hess and her team are working on it. They should be done by now, I think."

Trip sighed. "Too bad I won't get to see it."

"I can put up a monitor for you if you want," Phlox offered. Obviously, he had picked up on the disappointment in Trip's voice. "That way you could attend the celebration without actually being in the messhall."

Trip shook his head. "Naw, wouldn't be the same. Thanks anyway, doc."

"Let me know if you change your mind," Phlox said, picking up the empty IV bag. "I'll be outside; call me if you need anything, all right?"

Trip nodded. "Will do. Thanks."

Phlox smiled and left, humming a slightly off-tune song that might have been "Silent Night". Apparently, even the doctor was picking up on the "Christmas spirit".

"Which reminds me," Trip said, and Malcolm looked back at him. "I guess I owe you a "thank you", as well."

Malcolm frowned. "What for?"

"For tryin' to help me. Back on the planet," he added when Malcolm only gave him a blank stare. "When you tried to grab my hand."

"It is my job," Malcolm said. He didn't want to sound stiff or dismissive, but he also didn't know what else to say. Fact was, he had tried to do his job and he had failed. There was no reason why Trip should thank him.

He expected Trip to roll his eyes or sigh, but the other man only gave him a searching look. "You okay, Mal?"

Malcolm shrugged. "Yes. I just wish this hadn't happened."

"Well, it wasn't your fault." Trip sighed. "Guess I've only myself to blame for this." He waved a hand at his bandaged mid-section. "Too bad it had to happen now of all times, though."

Trip was doing his best to sound casual, but Malcolm saw right through him. It hurt Trip that he would have to spend Christmas confined to a sickbed, that he would miss out on the one occasion when everybody got together to remember their family back home, and at the same time celebrate the upcoming holiday. Even though he didn't feel that way himself, Malcolm knew just how important this was to Trip.

And it was then that he had an idea.

"Maybe there's a way you can celebrate, after all."

Trip shook his head. "Naw, I don't think I want a monitor in here. 'sides, there's no real fun in watchin', is there?"

Malcolm opened his mouth to say that he wasn't thinking about setting up a monitor, but then he closed it again. No, better not say anything.

"Probably not," he said instead. "Well, there's still the Captain's birthday next month, right? As far as I know, there is a party planned as well."

Trip brightened a little at the thought. "Yeah, there is. Guess I shouldn't be complainin'," he added. "Could have been worse, right?"

_Indeed_, Malcolm thought but didn't say. He didn't want to remember how Trip had looked down there at the foot of the cliff, not moving, a dark red puddle spreading around his body.

Phlox chose that moment to poke his head into the room. "I don't want to interrupt, Lieutenant, but the Commander needs to rest now."

Trip opened his mouth to protest, but the doctor held up a hand. "You're still recovering from surgery, Commander. Your body needs rest in order to recuperate."

Malcolm had already gotten up. If he wanted to follow through on his idea, then he needed to hurry. And even if Trip didn't think so himself, the other man did look like he could use a little peace and quiet.

"I'll see you later then, C... Trip?" he asked.

Trip smiled tiredly. "That would be nice. Thanks for stoppin' by, Mal."

"Anytime," Malcolm said. He hesitated, then reached out and gave Trip a quick pat on the shoulder. "Get some rest, all right?"

Trip nodded, already settling down on his pillow. Malcolm was almost at the door when Trip called him back once more.

"Mal?"

"Yes?"

Trip grinned at him. "Do go to the party, okay? I don't want to hear you've been spendin' the evenin' in your quarters."

Malcolm smirked in response and left. Indeed, he would attend the party... although maybe not the way Trip imagined.

* * *

Malcolm entered the Hydroponics lab, throwing a quick glance around the room and finding it empty. Obviously, Ensigns McCarthy and Chen had decided that their plants could spend a few hours without them, and had joined the party crew in the messhall. Which was exactly what Malcolm had been hoping for when he had made his way down here.

After having assured himself that he was alone, he began walking down the aisles between the waist-high plant beds, scanning each of them for anything that could be of use to him. The air was misty from the irrigation sprays, and he felt a familiar itch in his nose as he passed a patch of particularly colorful alien flowers. He resisted the urge to rub his eyes – if he did, he knew the itch would only grow worse – and continued to walk down the aisle. It was only when he had almost reached the back of the room that he finally found what he was looking for. Well, they were only forty centimeters high and purple in color, but the triangular shape and the prickly appendages looked just right.

Malcolm looked around for a storage closet, spotting one on the wall to his right. As he opened its sliding door, he was greeted by a disgraceful mess of gardening supplies, sample containers and bottles of fertilizer. Thinking that if he ever discovered a storage closet in the Armory to be in a similar state of disarray, someone would be in for a hard time, Malcolm rummaged around until he found a small spade and a flower pot.

He returned to the plant bed and had just plunged the spade into the soft earth when a voice behind his back made him startle.

"Lieutenant?!"

Malcolm turned around and found himself face to face with Ensign McCarthy, a small Irishwoman with a shock of brown, curly hair. She glanced at the spade in his hand, then back at his face, and her eyebrows climbed into dangerous heights.

"Sir, were you just trying to dig up one of our _Coniferae Puniceae Vulcanae_?"

He cleared his throat. "Is that what they are called?" he asked, aware that he must sound like a complete idiot.

McCarthy narrowed her eyes at him. "Sir, those plants are extremely hard to breed. They usually grow in a desert climate and we've been trying for ages to get them to grow in an artificial environment. It would be..." She hesitated, obviously reminding herself that she was talking to a superior officer. "It would be _bad_ if we lost one of them."

"I'm sorry, Ensign," Malcolm said. "I wasn't going to destroy your plant. I just wanted to borrow it for a while." He held up the pot. "I was going to return it later."

She looked at him as if he had lost his mind, and frankly, he couldn't blame her. "Borrow it?" she repeated. "What would you want to borrow a _Conifera_ for?"

Malcolm sighed inwardly. He had hoped he wouldn't have to reveal his plan to anyone, but right now, it seemed to be his only choice if he wanted to get what he had come for. He began explaining to the Ensign why he needed one of her plants, and to his surprise, her expression softened the longer he talked. When he had finished, she smiled at him.

"Well, sir, considering the circumstances, I guess we can spare the _Conifera _for a few hours." She reached for the spade he was holding. "Here, let me give you a hand."

Malcolm handed it to her and watched as she skillfully began to loosen the earth around the plant's small trunk. A few minutes later, she had laid open the roots and lifted the plant out of its bed and into the pot, into which she had shoveled a few spadefuls of earth. After making sure that the _Conifera_ was safely planted in its new home, she handed the pot to Malcolm.

"Here you go, sir."

"Thank you, Ensign." He took it and turned to leave. "I'll return it the day after tomorrow, at the latest."

"That's all right." She smiled. "Oh, and Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"Tell him "Merry Christmas" from me, okay?"

Malcolm returned her smile. "I will."

* * *

"Lieutenant, I am extremely busy and if you are here to complain or ask me for an extra supply of alcoholic beverages, the answers are "I don't care" and "Absolutely not, I don't have enough to begin with"."

Chef turned away, obviously considering the conversation to be over. Malcolm wasn't going to give up just like that, though. He followed Chef through the galley, dodging harassed crewmen who were doing their best to work amidst the chaos of bowls, plates, pots and baking trays.

"Actually, I was going to ask you another favor," he said.

Chef ignored him, yanking open one of the micro-heaters. A cloud of steam and the smell of roasted ham escaped, and Chef bent down to poke something with a fork. Apparently satisfied, he pulled his hand back, slammed the micro-heater shut and straightened up again. His face was red and covered with a film of sweat.

"Do I look like I have the time for favors?" he asked.

Malcolm considered his answer carefully. "You look like you have everything under control," he said finally.

Chef made a dismissive gesture with the fork, missing Malcolm's nose by mere inches. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Reed."

Malcolm sighed inwardly. He had hoped he wouldn't have to use this last ace up his sleeve, but he should have known better. There was just no talking to Chef, especially during the holiday season.

"I seem to remember you mentioning that you would like to study the martial arts, especially... what was it, karate?"

"Judo," Chef said. He laid the fork aside and watched Malcolm out of calculating eyes. "I said that I would like to take judo lessons."

"Right," Malcolm said.

"And you said that it didn't fit into your training schedule at the moment."

"Well," Malcolm cleared his throat. "I suppose I could... re-arrange the schedule. What do you think of Monday evenings, 1900?"

Chef leaned against the counter, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Thursday afternoons, 1530 to 1630."

Malcolm wanted to say that Thursday afternoon was when he held his weekly debriefing with the Beta shift team, but reconsidered when he saw the look in Chef's eyes. It was Thursday afternoons, or nothing.

"Very well then," he said, sighing when he thought of what he was getting himself into. Chef was short-tempered, easily offended and, to be quite honest, not exactly the sportive, muscular type. "Thursday afternoons it is."

"I'll be looking forward to it." Chef seemed honestly pleased. "Now, you were talking about a favor..."

"That's right," Malcolm said. "This is what I need..."

When Malcolm left the galley, carrying a warming plate covered with a stasis lid, he took a quick look around the messhall. The party was about to start in half an hour, and the decoration crew had done their utmost to create a festive atmosphere. On every table, there was a candle and a bowl full of Christmas crackers, and all over the room, tiny glittering stars and mistletoe twigs (or something rather like it) dangled from the ceiling. The showpiece, of course, was the decorated Christmas tree in the corner, topped by the star which, according to the Captain, blended in so well with the surroundings.

Malcolm allowed himself to linger for a moment, and admit to himself that all of this did look rather nice, especially the tree. He regarded it and suddenly remembered something else he needed. No way he could do without it, not if he wanted to do this right.

He glanced over his shoulder as he approached the tree. There was no one else here at the moment, but of course, every second the door could open and the person in question would be treated to the sight of Lieutenant Reed raiding Enterprise's Christmas tree.

As quickly as he could, Malcolm grabbed a handful of stars, a bunch of tinsel, several of the smaller bulbs and one of the garlands of lights from the very back of the tree, hoping that no one would notice that it was gone. He stuffed the stolen decoration into the pockets of his uniform, which bulged strangely in the places where he had hidden the bulbs, then hastily made his retreat. Hopefully he wouldn't meet anyone on his way back to his quarters... if anyone found out he had robbed the Christmas tree, he was never going to live it down.

* * *

Two hours later, for the second time that day, Malcolm made his way down to sickbay. He was pushing a trolley that had drawn several surprised looks on the way there, but Malcolm found that he didn't care. He, for one, was very pleased with the way his project had turned out.

Phlox glanced up as he entered, eyes widening when he saw the trolley.

"Lieutenant! Is that..."

"It's for Commander Tucker," Malcolm said, and suddenly felt a little embarrassed. "He can't go to the party, so I thought..."

He didn't think that he had ever seen Phlox smile quite so disconcertingly. "That was very considerate of you, Lieutenant! I'm afraid the Commander is sleeping at the moment, but..."

"That's all right," Malcolm said. "I'll wait."

His leg hurt.

It was the first thing Trip became aware of when he drifted back to awareness, and for a moment he found himself wishing that he hadn't woken up at all. Despite the painkillers, his broken pelvis and thigh were giving him hell, sending a constant dull pain into his back. And to be honest, he'd rather spend the evening sleeping than thinking of the fact that it was Christmas and he was alone in sickbay.

_And it's your own goddamn fault, too._

He licked his lips. His throat was dry and there was a strange taste in his mouth, probably from the medication.

With a sigh, Trip finally opened his eyes and turned to get his water glass from the nightstand, almost knocking it over when he noticed that he wasn't alone, after all. On the chair next to his bed, there was Malcolm, smiling at him.

"Hello, Trip. Have a good sleep?"

Not "Good evening, Commander", but "Hello, Trip". And, Trip noticed, Malcolm was out of uniform, too, wearing jeans and a black sweater Trip hadn't even known he owned.

"Hey, Mal," he said, or rather tried to say. His voice was little more than a hoarse croak.

Malcolm reached out and handed him the glass of water, watching as Trip took a sip.

"Feeling any better?"

Trip nodded and leaned back on his pillow, and for the first time noted a trolley that was standing next to his bed. A trolley laden with...

"Mal?"

"Yes?"

Trip pointed at the trolley. "What's all that?"

Malcolm blushed a little, but he kept smiling. "That's our Christmas party."

"Our..." Trip trailed off, speechless. Sitting on the trolley, there was a diminutive Christmas tree, or some purple plant that rather looked like one, decorated with candles, tinsel, bulbs and stars. Next to it, there was a huge plate filled with an assortment of cookies, among them favorites of his like Fantasy Fudge, Eggnog Thumbprints and Chocolate Peanut Butter Cup Cookies. He, Hoshi and Travis had talked about their favorite Christmas cookies some time ago over lunch, while Malcolm had been absorbed in his padd as usual. Trip had never thought that the Lieutenant had listened, let alone remembered which exact cookies Trip liked, but apparently, he had.

In front of the Christmas tree sat a present carefully wrapped in blue paper, and next to it, a warming plate covered with a lid.

He looked back at Malcolm, who was watching him apprehensively. Trip swallowed, and suddenly found that his voice was rather hoarse again.

"God, Mal, did you get all that for me?"

Malcolm nodded, sounding slightly embarrassed as he answered. "Yes. I noticed that you were a little disappointed that you couldn't go to the party, and I thought you might like it."

Maybe it was the pain meds, or maybe the way this sudden, unexpected gesture of kindness had overwhelmed him; in any case, Trip found his eyes getting blurry, and closed them quickly to blink away the sudden tears.

"Mal, I... I don't know what to say. Thanks, buddy."

Malcolm must have noticed his wet eyes, for he quickly turned away to pick up one of the warming plates. "Well, I hope you're up to eating your Christmas dinner. I'm not taking anything back to the galley, or Chef will have my head."

Grateful for the change of subject, Trip took the bed table Malcolm handed him and unfolded it so that Malcolm could set down the plate. As he lifted the lid, a wonderful smell escaped and Trip's eyes widened when he saw what was on the plate. Next to a large piece of succulent ham, there was a large helping of sweet potato casserole, mac and cheese, green beans and a glistening cob of corn. Next to it, Malcolm set down a dessert plate with a huge piece of red velvet cake, topped with whipped cream.

Trip looked up, and this time, the grin on Malcolm's face was positively mischievous.

"Well, what are you waiting for, Commander? Dig in."

Trip did. He ate every last morsel, not stopping even when his stomach felt as if it would burst. He even found room for a few cookies afterwards. Malcolm had brought his own dinner – something spicy-smelling he called Beef Rendang – and ate with his plate on his lap, relating to him how Travis had secretly "spiced up" the Christmas punch and how Chef had threatened to poison the helmsman's dinner when he had found out. Apparently, Malcolm had enjoyed the party, even though he had only stayed for an hour before grabbing his trolley and coming down to sickbay.

"Even T'Pol made an appearance," he said between bites. "She ended up pulling a Christmas cracker with the Captain."

Trip laughed. "That's rather illogical, isn't it?"

Malcolm grinned. "Well, the Captain told her that if she wanted to study human customs, it would be an unforgivable lapse not to try the experience of a British Christmas cracker herself. He even made her wear the paper hat that was inside."

Trip shook his head. "Hope Jon's laid off the punch in the meantime, or he'll have a king-sized hangover in the morning."

"He won't be the only one." Malcolm set his now empty plate aside. "That was good."

It was the first time Trip had heard Malcolm admit to enjoying any kind of food.

"Yeah, it was," he said, smiling at the Englishman. "I'm stuffed now, though."

"Too stuffed to open your present?" Malcolm asked lightly.

Trip smiled and wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. "Naw. Don't you want me to wait until tomorrow mornin', though?"

Malcolm shook his head. "As far as I've seen, everybody's opening their presents tonight. Besides, I believe we need it for the second part of the party."

Instantly curious, Trip took the small box Malcolm handed him. It was obvious that the person who had prepared it didn't have much experience in wrapping gifts, but it was still beautiful.

Suddenly, Trip remembered something and raised his head again. "I got you somethin' too. It's back in my quarters, together with the other presents."

Malcolm looked shocked. "You got me a present?"

"Yeah," Trip said, wanting to ask what the big deal was when he noticed the look in Malcolm's eyes. There was something about that look that told him that this had rarely, if ever, happened to Malcolm before.

_It's time that changed, Mal._

Trip said nothing, however, not wanting to embarrass his friend, and turned back to his own present. He pulled off the wrapping and opened the box, and, when he saw what was inside, felt his mouth drop open.

"_The Dawn of the Shadows_? How on Earth did you get this, Mal?"

Malcolm smiled. "I have my sources."

"No kiddin'!" Trip took the small disc out of the box. "This was only released on Earth a week ago!"

Malcolm nodded. "The critics say it's quite the masterpiece."

Trip nodded. How Malcolm had come by the film whose release he had anticipated for ages – a dark horror tale by his favorite director – he had no idea, but now that he had it, he couldn't wait to see it.

As if he had read his mind, Malcolm picked up a portable monitor Trip hadn't noticed before, and set it down at the end of Trip's bed.

"Well, as I said, the second part of the party." He held out his hand for the disc, and Trip handed it to him, a huge grin spreading on his face. This was the life.

Before Malcolm slipped the disc into the slot, however, Trip reached out and touched his arm.

"Mal?"

Malcolm turned his head, and suddenly looked shy again, almost anxious. "Yeah?"

"Thanks," Trip said.

Malcolm watched him for a moment, then suddenly, he smiled. "You're welcome."

He inserted the disc into the player, and the opening credits of the movie appeared on the screen. As he leaned back in his pillow, Trip sighed, but it was a sigh of contentment.

"Merry Christmas, Malcolm."

FIN

Same to all my readers, and - please let me know what you think!


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